THIRTY-FIVE

THE TWO XEBECS SAILED WESTWARD FROM THE LEVANT, PUSHED ALONG by a strong breeze from the south. Spring was coming sooner than usual to the Mediterranean and the two reis could feel it in the warm wind on their cheeks. That was both good and bad, for spring meant there was the possibility of early siroccos to worry about, that dry wind that came from the Sahara, sometimes carrying sand, sometimes at hurricane force, sometimes both.

Hasim Reis stood on the deck of his xebec, a re-capture from the Spanish named Ruse, appropriately named as it turned out, for Hasim was nothing if not clever. The other xebec’s reis was named Rogers, a British renegade turned corsair who fled to Algiers and converted to Islam. It was that or be hung in Great Britain as a pirate. His xebec, Gazelle, was built in Algiers, captured by the French, and re-captured by Rogers in a pitched battle near Tunis.

There were a surprising number of European renegade pirates in Zabana’s little navy. Some had been Royal Navy officers at one time who jumped ship for the better pay of a corsair captain, but there were Spanish, Dutch, French, and even Venetian captains, as well. All professed their devotion to Islam but what they really loved was gold, and the dey was generous when they captured Christians for the slave market.

Hasim and Rogers had sailed their ships in tandem before, but were only moderately successful and frequently provoked Zabana’s ire as a result. On this cruise they had captured only two fishing boats near Cairo, netting six slaves. They had sunk the boats, along with their catch, because they really had no value. At last, low on food and water, they had sailed for their home port of Algiers.

Rascal plunged to the northeast on starboard tack, sailing close-hauled against the trades. With luck, they would reach Algiers in twenty sailing days, barring a turn in the weather which could leave them hove-to for days. Rascal sailed under full topsails and made all the distance she could, while she could.

At the end of the first week out of Antigua the routine of a ship at sea had taken hold firmly and the watches changed with monotonous regularity. A keen ear could gauge the strength of the wind by its octave in the ship’s rigging. Flying fish were constant companions and each morning the deck was littered with flapping, silver bodies which had unwittingly flung themselves aboard in the night. These were cooked for breakfast, for some sailors would eat them, though not every sailor would eat fish. Then the deck was scraped of the scales and salt and Cully would exercise the gun crews or teach the youngsters the theory of gunnery.

The morning of the tenth day at sea found Fallon stepping over flying fish on the windward side of the ship to get some morning exercise. Barclay and Aja had gotten a tolerable noon sight the day before and thus there should have been nothing to trouble the captain. In fact, Fallon was remarkably calm considering he was going somewhere he’d never been to do something he’d never done. Well, as Fallon’s father would say, that never bothered you before.

Finished with his walk, he leaned against the foremast and looked forward. Somewhere out there was Africa. He couldn’t see it, of course, but in his mind a picture had formed of what he would find there. It was exotic and mysterious and dangerous from a distance. And maybe up close, he admitted.

“Captain, sir,” said Aja, appearing at his side and interrupting his picture-making, “I have been thinking of Barbary people. I think they must be very strange to see.”

“Yes, I suppose they dress and talk differently from us,” agreed Fallon. “And their ships are different, of course.”

“Are the people different inside?”

Fallon thought about this a moment, surprised and curious that Aja had asked the question and wondering exactly what he meant. Surely Algerian mothers and fathers loved their children. Surely they sat around their tables at night and told them stories that made their eyes go wide. Surely those children grew up and fell in love, to start the cycle all over again. But on the other side of the coin, Muslims bought and sold men, women, and children into slavery. They committed unspeakable acts of cruelty towards others based on righteousness and religion and greed. They robbed and murdered and plundered and kept slaves and made war on other nations.

“I think,” said Fallon upon reflection, “they’re more like us than we know.”

The trip along the Mediterranean coast was uneventful, though both Hasim and Rogers kept a close eye on their provisions, which were dwindling fast. The slaves at the oars rowed mostly in the lulls, which was not often as the warm wind came reliably across the desert and pushed their ships along fast enough. The janissaries were bored, the crews were dispirited and all agreed the voyage was mostly a failure.

At last, Hasim and Rogers docked their ships at the quay in Algiers harbor and found that Zabana had left orders for them, threatening orders that would take them to sea again as soon as they could wood, water and provision their ships. They were to sail through the Strait of Gibraltar in search of prizes. It was unusual to order xebecs into the Atlantic, and it spoke of a certain urgency or desperation on Zabana’s part. Their orders were vague as to when to come back, but crystal clear on what they were expected to bring back: Christian slaves.

The xebec crews were not allowed a run ashore; not even the married men could leave the ships to see their families. Wives and children came to the quay to exchange notes and gifts and to wail from the torture of seeing husbands and fathers but not touching them.

The night before they left Algiers, Hasim and Rogers met for evening prayers. The sun was sinking in the west as the men knelt on the deck of Hasim’s ship to urge Allah to be kind to them. Both prayed for a merchant ship to appear on the horizon soon, even a small one, for they feared returning to the Mediterranean without a prize.

Each reis had but four fingers on his right hand as it was.

Hasim and Rogers sailed into the Strait of Gibraltar on a perfect afternoon. These waters were normally busy, but that day there was very little to attract their interest. So it came to pass that, at last, the xebecs cleared the Strait of Gibraltar and turned south along the coast of North Africa, into waters they had never sailed before. With the wind brisk from the northeast the sweeps could rest. There were thirty men chained to the oars, naked and burned from the sun, where they ate, slept, urinated, and defecated until they died. They were all infidels in the eyes of the corsairs, little more than dogs. And they were treated as such.

In addition to the ship’s crew, each xebec carried one hundred janis-saries and nine guns to the side, all 9-lb cannon, and each ship had skilled men to serve them. Years of fighting Christian navies and taking prizes had trained them well. Both Rogers and Hasim knew their mission to bring back Christian slaves was an important one and that they must not fail, thus each ship was driven by wind, oar and fear.

The small xebecs rolled and pitched and took on water occasionally, for their low freeboard and shallow draft were more suited to the Mediterranean, with its many bays and indentations and ports to run into in case of bad weather. But the open ocean was another thing altogether. Each reis would have to handle his ship in whatever conditions the sea offered them. Fortunately, the coast of North Africa offered shelter and safety at night, but each new day would see the ships ranging far and wide across the entrance to the Strait hoping to get lucky.

Lookouts scanned the horizon for sails as the first day outside the Strait closed but there was nothing to see.

Evening came aboard Rascal as a fog of darkness, settling about the ship in the empty spaces that were not wood or canvas or fiber or flesh. Rascal had her stern lantern lit and shortened sail for the night as Fallon had ordered. The wind and weather had cooperated beautifully and good luck seemed to be aboard.

Visser was at his customary place on the windward rail watching the world close off when Fallon approached him silently.

“Caleb, we will be half way to Gibraltar in another week if this wind holds, according to Barclay. Very close to your father.”

“Yes,” said Visser. “I will never be able to repay you for everything you have done and are doing. I pray it will not put you or your ship in danger. You don’t know how I pray.”

“That is good of you, Caleb,” said Fallon. “I believe we will find your father and bring him home safely. But as to danger, there is danger everywhere, especially in a sailor’s life. The men know that. Beauty knows that. At any moment a French squadron could come over the horizon and we would find ourselves in the gravest of dangers. Truth be told, we crave it a little bit, the danger, that is. I could not admit that to Elinore, but it is true. We chose this life, remember, and it has its rewards. The mornings at first light. Sailing through a storm safely. Coming home. Sometimes it is even noble, in its way. I can’t think of a more noble purpose than freeing a person from slavery, Caleb. No matter who he is.”

Visser thought of Aja’s story, then, of how Fallon had rescued the boy and set him free. No doubt there were others, as well.

He looked at Fallon with fresh eyes. For the first time, Visser understood that, beyond the obvious friendship the two shared, something larger had set Fallon sailing into danger on the Barbary coast.

His own humanity gave him no choice.